Wrinkly Fingers

When I was a child, if I lingered too long in the bath with my plastic boat and my plastic duck, I would have wrinkly fingers which made my finger tips soft; bumpy and pale.

This observation in my life on lingering too long on a circumstance; or a longing; or an episode of anger has a similar effect on my brain as to having wrinkly fingers.

Ignoring for a moment, that in all probability my brain is already most likely soft, bumpy and pale, the impact of my emotional state on my ability to think clearly and rationally and roundly, is compromised by the wrinkly fingers approach to my choice of response.

In recent years, I have been more able to decipher in my head, that the water is cold, or metaphorically, my thoughts are stale or stagnated and so choose a different response to liberate myself from the old destructive impulse to be inert, rigid, or cold.

As a child, remembering the warm fluffy towel being rubbed over my frozen body and re-energised from the tips of my toes, to the ends of my fingers, reminds me of the benefits of allowing those who love us to care for us; and in return our wrinkly fingers unfold into a hug or a touch which shows them that we know.

My next blog will be: The Carnage of My Used Running Kit

William Defoe



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